It had started out as an ordinary day. I woke up, went down to the street for a cup of coffee and a croissant, and watched the people hustle along the sidewalk, hurrying to their duties, whatever they were. The chaotic rush of the world did not really touch me. My business gave me all the freedom in the world, I made my own hours and went where I wanted to go. I liked nice things and could afford them, with some care, but I also did not like ostentatious, and so I kept it pretty low-key, that is, affordable.
Some nice coffee, a fresh croissant, watch a skirt sway past, this was the way I started every day. The one thing I can say, though, is that life was a little lonely. I seemed to attract a certain type of woman, that is, one who liked the idea of a bottomless bank account. I didn't actually have a bottomless bank account but I could take a girl to a nice place and if she got the wrong impression, I didn't feel a need to correct her. So I was not lacking in female company, in fact I knew some pretty fine women, pleasers you might say. But it was not like having real friends, and sometimes I missed having a serious conversation or a spontaneous moment.
After a croissant it was my custom to stroll around the neighborhood for fresh air and exercise. This is a busy, colorful little place, somehow it has stayed "Bohemian" without turning "hipster," if you can imagine. It's like a secret neighborhood in West Lucville, runs along the river and technically this neighborhood, known as The Crook because of the way the river bends here, runs up to the crest of Dobbs Hill. But the busy part is along the river.
The shopping in The Crook is unique, besides restaurants there are boutiques and music shops and plenty of bakeries and lace shops and antiques, some art galleries. The streets are cobblestone and worn, and you feel you could be living in almost any century since the dawn of civilization.
I had walked along the river and was headed back toward my apartment when I heard a shriek and saw a flurry of color as an armload of bright fabrics seemed to explode into the air like confetti out of the side of a parked automobile. I watched as a woman leapt up from the back seat and waved her arms at her dispersing chaos of color, trying to catch everything before it fell to the ground.
I hurried over to help. It turned out this woman, Marie, had just purchased a collection of handmade scarves that she was going to decorate and re-sell. Somehow the rack they were on snapped, a spring popped, and everything went flying. The two of us spent some frantic minutes gathering stray scraps, shaking the dirt off them, and her tears -- she had literally been crying -- eventually turned to smiles. With everything secure in her car, she said, "How about if I buy you a cup of coffee, sir?"
"That sounds lovely," I said. There was, a coffee shop a few steps away, and we sat at a counter in the window and watched the world together.
Marie was vivacious, pretty, and smart. And funny. She was one of those people who stand at life's crossroads and take the next ride, wherever it goes. The flow of chance had brought her here to the Crook several years ago, and she told me she lived a quiet life selling boutique clothing online. Like me, she didn't have much reason to interact with the "external" world, except sometimes to pick up inventory.
We went for a walk and ended up holding hands, and then ended up kissing on a bridge over a tributary, and then that seemed to turn into something more passionate -- I am compressing a couple of hours of a slowly-unfolding relationship in a paragraph here, but we felt something happening between us and she asked me if she could make me lunch at her apartment, which was a short distance from where we were.
We walked to her small apartment, one main room with a tiny kitchen at one end and a small bathroom. The dinner table, the bed and a bookshelf were all in one room.
Marie had been wearing a scarf which she hung on a hook on the back of the door while I got a look at her place. Wood floors, old porcelain sink and countertop, the bed was on a wooden frame that looked as solid as the building itself. But I'd say the real value of this room was in the window overlooking the river valley. The room was rectangular with the door near the end of one of the long sides of the rectangle, and the other long side, facing the door, was mostly glass, a tall picture window made up of numerous reasonably-sized panes. We were on a hillside that dropped down below, so there was no chance of anyone wandering by or even hiking up to look in, and the view was like one of those early American landscapes with broad expanses of forest and water, and here and there a humble little home with a plume of smoke coming up from the fireplace.
"Beautiful place," I said, standing near the window.
"I was lucky to find this," she said. "I never want to leave."
She busied herself with an espresso-maker and in a few minutes the room had a wonderful smell of freshly ground coffee. We sat the the table sipping and she said, "Well I promised you lunch."
"You don't have to," I said, though I did look forward to it.
"I have all day," she said. "Do you have a time limit?" I shook my head negative. "Let me show you the sandwiches I learned from Mrs. Omfbach down the block." Marie stood up and gave me an encouraging kiss on the forehead. Now that I had a look at her, she was a slender, somewhat busty young woman, with blond hair tinted a kind of pink. She wore fashionable bright white, tight slacks and a sleeveless top, knit fabric in a dark pink that clung to her shape in a flattering way. There was fairly heavy makeup around her eyes but she wore no jewelry other than some small earrings; I did not see any tattoos, and no barrettes or ornamentation in her hair, which hung in an appealing tangle down to her throat. I sat at the table with my back to the kitchen, gazing out the big window.
"Oh," she said suddenly. "I don't want to spill food on these slacks. Do you mind if I take them off?"
"Of course not," I said, which seemed ironic on several levels. "Make yourself comfortable, don't worry about me." I heard her rustling behind me but did not think to turn around. I was watching the wide river flow, enjoying the flavor of a cappuccino, really just loving the fact of being alive.
"This is some view you have here," I commented.
"I spend a lot of time just sitting, looking out the window," she admitted. "It's hypnotic, isn't it." I heard dishes rattling, it was a comforting sound.
For some reason I turned around to address her and my eyes were greeted by the reality that she had in fact taken her white slacks off. She was busy at the counter with a knife, wearing her snug top and the tiniest panties. From my point of view behind her there was little more than a narrow strap that came down the crack between her buttocks. As a piece of clothing they did nothing, did not cover anything, and I was overwhelmed to see that Marie had a world-class bottom, firm and round, undimpled and full.
She must have heard my breath catch. She turned her head to look at me over her shoulder. "Are you okay?" she asked.
I laughed lightly. "I hadn't noticed, when you said you were going to take your slacks off you really did take them off."
"You said you didn't mind," she pouted.
"Oh no, no, I don't mind," I laughed. "I just hadn't realized what a distracting bottom you have."
"That's so nice of you," she said.
I gestured to her and she came to stand in front of me, looking like a shy country girl. I turned her around and looked at her bottom up close. Then I leaned my head forward and kissed her right in the middle of a cheek. She giggled, and I took a mouthful of butt in my mouth and sucked, then ran my tongue over her bottom, ending up of course in the valley of delectable flesh where her panties were buried. While she stood beside the table with the knife in her hand I pulled the fabric aside, separated her cheeks with my hands, and ran my tongue several times over her petite asshole.
She was panting a little bit. "I see you have found my weakness," she said with a smile in her voice.
"And you have found mine," I replied. I poked and licked her anus with my tongue for another minute and then she went back to the counter to make her special sandwiches, which turned out to be delicious.
I helped her wash the dishes, standing close beside her and then behind her, kissing her on the neck as if by accident in the close quarters, pressing my hips against her bottom as I reached for the towel, fondling her breasts as I put a plate into the rack. By the time the dishes were clean we were ready for the next course. I spun her around and kissed her and she responded with fire.
I led her to the bed and pulled her top over her head. She was wearing a tiny lace bra that matched the black lace of her panties, and like the panties completely failed to cover anything. Her nipples were visible and I kissed them and she tumbled back into the bed.
I unbuttoned my shirt and hung it on the bedframe and Marie said, "Let me help you with this," and she unbuckled my belt while I kicked my shoes off. Her bra had already disappeared, and she seemed studious and curious as she opened my trousers and pulled them down inch by inch.
I was hard, of course, and she was surprised when my cock popped out and slapped her in the chin. She laughed and then took it into her mouth immediately, with my pants around my knees. She took a couple of good, deep sucks and I bent over to get my pants off. When I stood up her panties had joined her bra on the floor near the big window.
The adjective that springs to mind for her naked body is: "tidy." She was petite, firm, in great physical shape, with firm medium-sized breasts and a natural but tidy growth of pubic hair. Her makeup was stylish and her pink hair was clean and vibrant in the natural light from the window; the way she moved was confident and, I'd say, athletic, as she reached for me and opened her arms for me to join her in the bed. "Musical" would have been my second choice of adjective.
I lay beside her and our bodies intertwined in a big intimate kiss, our hands busy touching the other's skin, my cock pressing against her tummy. She broke the kiss and worked her lips to my ear and then my neck, and down to my chest where she lingered over my nipple, teasing and sucking one and then the other while her little hand swarmed up and down the insides and outsides of my thighs, her forearm brushing my erection as she danced her digits over my body.
I had a finger between her legs and felt her hips pushing to meet me but she was not interested in that, right away. Her lips kept traveling south on me and she teased my hips with kisses, my thighs, eventually moving her head around until she was under my scrotum, kissing it and holding one and then the other testicle in her mouth with utter tenderness.
I could only moan and touch her hair as she lavished attention on me. Eventually her lips came up to the length of my penis; she nibbled on it, starting at the base and working toward the tip. I felt almost a sense of relief when her lips finally encircled the head of my cock and she sucked down onto it, fucking me with her mouth.
After some minutes I put my hands under her arms and pulled her up to me. She wrapped her legs around mine and we kissed wildly before I broke the kiss and followed her lead, kissing her ear and throat and sucking on those luscious breasts. She had a way of moaning that reflected pleasure and appreciation and also urgency. As I moved to the second breast I gently moved her onto her side, facing away from me, and moved my lips to her back.
I felt like a starving man discovering a feast when my lips reached her bottom. I sucked and nibbled at every inch of flesh, until I had her on her belly with her legs spread and my tongue licking and kissing her asshole and the surrounding territory. Her moans now had increased in urgency, and it was a simple matter for me to bring my fingers up and find her clitoris, which was large and engorged now. I rolled it between my thumb and finger and she began fucking my face with her butt and moaning loudly...
... and there was a knock at the door.
We pretended it didn't happen at first, but it repeated. "I'm not expecting anyone," she said, but now she was clearly distracted.
"Marie! Marie! Are you here?" we heard through the stout wooden door.
"Oh my god," she said, sitting up. "It's Carlo."
"What the fuck?" I sat up, too, shaking the lust out of my head.
"Carlo, I'd know his voice anywhere," she said. "I thought he was in Brussels." She gave me a distracted kiss. "I haven't seen him in years."
There was a kind of pale pink silk robe hanging behind the door, which she hurriedly pulled on. I covered myself with the sheet and watched, equal parts annoyed and bemused, as she opened the door.
"Carlo!" she shouted, wrapping her visitor in a big hug. "Oh my god, it's been years. Come in." And this stranger walked cheerfully into her apartment. He removed his cap and his scarf and hung them on the kitchen chair as if he lived there.
"Carlo," Marie said, "This is Doc. We were not expecting a visitor."
"I can see," Carlo said. "Nice to meet you, Doc, I apologize that intruding."
